Endurance
by Nixevin
Summary: Nephamael had endured the journey to Northrend. He could Endure this. ///Rated M for violence and a rape scene. Yaoi is involved./// YES! There ARE ERRORS ALL OVER THE PLACE! Please excuse my idiocy. *head/desk*


**Endurance**

**By AzElric**

**Summary: "Nephamael had endured the journey to Northrend. He could endure this." Nephamael Dawnweave, once an aspiring paladin and an exemplary warrior, is searching for someone he has lost. It is his responsibility to bring Borael back alive, even if it means taking his place beneath the Lich King himself.**

**[Authors Notes:]**

**I am lore ignorant. Sue me. Will be rated M for violence, language, and a rape scene.**

**Neph: You can't be serious! O_OII**

**Oh, but I am…**

**[Disclaimer] I own Neph, Vinny-baby owns Bor. We do not own the World…of Warcraft. But then, that's obvious. If I owned WoW, there'd be more ghey love. XD**

**Chapter I, The Frozen Dais**

Nephamael had endured the journey to Northrend. He could endure this. He needed only to grit his teeth and endure. He gathered his heavy cloak around his lithe, steel-encased body, as though to shield himself from the prying eyes and lascivious gazes of the Scourge denizens gathered around him. They leered and cackled at him as he made his way to the Lich King's frozen dais. Nephamael's silky ebon hair was brittle with frost, and moved stiffly in the brutal winds. At the last moment, he was tripped quite rudely by a younger passing Death Knight, causing him to tumble ungracefully into a kneeling position in front of the throne. The man in the throne stared down at him from the darkness of his blackened helm. The fabled blade, Frostmourne, leaned against his mighty hand. Nephamael let out a hacking cough, his ragged breath rising in clouds of steam into the frigid air. His mace clattered to the ground, enchanted ice mingling with the snow on the dais.

"Why have you come before me, Sin'dorei? Surely your kind has not forgotten my…campaigns in your lands…?" The King's voice was deep, but brittle and cold, like so much ice that coated his glorious throne. Nephamael thought he saw a glimpse of chilling blue eyes hooded beneath the helm, though he dared not lift his head to inspect Arthas further. "Have you perhaps come as a messenger for your people? But no, Kael'thalas and those who rule in his stead would never send just one…perhaps it is that you are…searching for someone?" A sneer crept into that frigid voice, making the elf shudder.

"I have come…to serve beneath you. I have forsaken my faith and my allegiances to…the people of the Horde of Azeroth." Nephamael still did not upturn his face to look at the man before him, whether out of fear, reverence, or a mixture of the two. The man laughed mirthlessly.

"And why may I ask, have you chosen this path?"

"The Light has shown itself to be a shallow comfort for my kind, though that is of little consequence to me…I suppose I have come in search of a better purpose…and a way to hone my strengths, and to harness the might and glory that no mortal can achieve." He tried to sound brave, he tried to sound confident. However, his voice only came out hoarse and small, showing the extent and evidence of his long and dangerous journey, and perhaps even more showcasing his young age and inexperience. He bit his wind-chapped lips; the only sound the Northrend zephyrs howling over the tundra.

The King was silent for a long moment, as though mulling the thoughts over. Nephamael heard the undead behind him shifting, some uneasily, some purposefully. Should he make a mistake, the King would order his vast army to take him away, and if they were merciful, kill him and let him die. However, the King could just as well decide to let his minions take his free will and his soul, turning him into that which he had fought against for so long as a Paladin. He had long since forsaken that title, giving up his halfhearted, shallow connection with the Naaru's powers. If he failed, Borael would be slave to the Lich King's will and whim for eternity, lest he should find a way to free himself. And that future seemed hopelessly bleak and undecided…much like his bond with Nixevin once was. Oh, yes. He had banished her from his thoughts, drawing upon strength of consciousness he never knew he could possess. He had rewritten his own destiny, at least in his eyes.

"Take him as you will…give him his…initiation…" The leer in Arthas' voice was evident, palpable. He raised his gauntleted hand and signaled to two or three Death Knights on either side of the dais. They came behind Nephamael, grasping him by his thin arms and pulling him upright roughly. The blood elf bit back a whimper as the uncaring hands pressed against several scrapes and bruises he had garnered on his long and harrowing journey. They sneered at him from behind their helms, looking him over with ravaging, electric blue eyes. Once he had been drawn fully upright by the Death Knights around him, he was released by one, possibly a troll or a night elf, judging by its height and it's long, sharp-pointed ears protruding backwards from its helm.

"Yessa, mah lord." It said in a thick troll accent. "We shall bea doin' how you says it ta be so…" A blunted, heavy object struck Nephamael on the head, possibly the hilt of a claymore or the end of a mace. It slammed into his skull with concussive force, drawing blood that steamed as it hit the air and spread along the back of his scalp. The blood elf made not a sound, crumpling and going limp in the arms of his wicked captors. Everything in his sight went black.

* * *

**[Disclaimer:] Okay, so I lied. I am the head of Blizzard entertainment.**

**Neph: Ohmagod! Seriously?! O_O**

**No, sorry that was a lie! =.=;**

**Neph: Why, you!**

****

Chapter II, Initiation

Hazy, slow, thick, warm. Thoughts, sounds, sensations began to seep back into Nephamael's pitch-black consciousness. He became aware of a throbbing pain and a dry, sticky substance on the back of his head, aware of the crackling of a bonfire, aware of his cloak draped around his body, which he discovered was no longer wrapped in chain mail. His silk shirt and a pair of slick leather breeches accommodated for his attire. He attempted to sit up, suddenly feeling the extent of overworked muscles and stiff joints. A moan of pain escaped him, low and thick with the weight of uneasy resting. He became aware of others around him, of all races. Nephamael was unsure whether they were living or undead, but they were most definitely sentient, awake, and suddenly very interested in him.

He felt the back of his head, wincing as he scratched off some of the dried blood in his hair and drawing his hand up to the light of the fire to inspect the dark, cracked crust of blood under his slightly long, feminine fingernails. The Death Knights around him whispered and murmured amongst themselves, and he began to catch glimpses of electric blue eyes glinting in the shadows beyond the firelight.

"Pretty…like a girl…" A human voice drifted out into the enclave, causing Neph's ears to perk. A man with long, dark hair stepped into the firelight, dragging a broad runeblade behind him that scraped horribly against the stone floor. The elf flinched at the scraping.

Nephamael opened his mouth to speak, but he couldn't seem to form words. The human drew closer to him, picking the broadsword up off the floor. Two other human Death Knights appeared on the edge of the firelight. Nephamael remained silent and still as others came into the light—a troll, a pair of orcs, and a night elf. All but the Kal'dorei drew up to the area where Nephamael sat, rigid with pain and fear.

"Yes…quite breathtaking, really…" Another human said.

"Elf-mons be like dat." The troll sneered.

The front most human reached out as though to run a hand through Nephamael's hair. Trusting as he was, the young elf softened, yet still shrank from the touch like a stray cat. Which of course, he was wise to do, because then the Knight lunged at him, roughly grasping his hair by the roots and jerking him forward.

He again bit his lips, whimpering pathetically. He would say nothing, he would give nothing. He would endure. He endured when the human and two orcs proceeded to pick him up and throw him to the floor from the cot on which he was lying. He fell onto the stone, nearly burning himself on the tendrils of the flames. He attempted to rise, but was kept down by a swift kick in the stomach by the troll. He moaned and coughed, looking up at the first human with pleading eyes. The dark-haired man smiled down at him.

"You look a lot like my wife…pretty, just like her…and your hair…" He inhaled, eyeing Nephamael up and down. He knelt aside the elf. "…She was the woman I killed shortly after I became a Death Knight." Nephamael's eyes widened with fear as the human grasped the scruff of his neck, pulling him up onto his knees and pressing against him from behind. "I do so miss my wife…I miss the way she screamed" The Knight whispered into his pointed ear. The elf shuddered in disgust. "I wonder…if you'd scream like her, too? I wonder what it would take to make you scream…just like that." He jerked Nephamael's hair back again, to the side, exposing his pale neck. "Shall we test how much you can take?" He bit down on the soft juncture beneath the elf's ear lobe, drawing blood.

The spectators laughed, and Neph groaned. The Death Knight began to suck on the steady trickle of blood from his neck, much to his surprise and bewilderment. This seemed to go on for a while, or maybe it was just a few seconds. All he could remember was feeling so dizzy when the human stopped…so dizzy. His head spinning, the human let him go and he tumbled onto the floor again, feeling weak. The Knight wiped his bloodstained mouth.

"I took a little too much; maybe…I don't think he'll remember the next morning…" He smirked. The other two humans chuckled and the orcs stepped up, tearing Nephamael's shirt off. One human slipped in between them and proceeded to undo his pants. In his stupor, the elf was hazily aware that he was being stripped against his will. He shivered, despite the warmth of the fire. He was almost feeling sleepy, until he felt someone take him by the hips and thrust inside of him. He moaned, suddenly feeling absolutely nothing but the pain as it pounded against him.

They took turns on him, drove him to the point of exhaustion. Drove him till all he could see was the white hot and violet splotches in his sight, all he could feel was the ragged exhaustion and pain coursing up along his small frame, wracking his nerves, making him scream until his throat was raw and he was silenced quite forcibly by a blow to the face. Tears sprang in his eyes, and in the overcome chaos of his mind, he struggled to hang onto the one thought that seemed to be worthwhile.

'_Borael…_' The name rang in Nephamael's consciousness, clear and wonderful and making him shiver. He needed only to remind himself of his reasons and everything would fade. The blood, the pain-mixed pleasure, this horrible place where he was, the wicked people surrounding him.

He would be alright, wouldn't he? He could endure this.

* * *

[Disclaimer:] I don't own it, but I do own Neph…

Neph: Not anymore…you forget, I'm the Lich King's—

Yes, Neph, you're the Lich King's personal whore. X3 *dodges Hammer of Wrath*

Chapter III, Dominated

Nephamael was beaten, and he knew it, too. He knew it the second he woke up with bite marks on his neck, bruises on his face, and nail marks on his legs, among other unmentionables. He couldn't move, couldn't make a sound other than a pathetic, stifled groan.

"_Hello, Nephamael_"

Oh, joy of joys…another voice to torment him, to speak of a destiny he had neither desire nor motivation to fulfill. He whimpered.

'_Who are you, and what do you want from me…?' _The voice laughed, if one could consider it to be a laugh. It sounded like ice shards falling from the eaves of a building, falling to assault some unlucky passerby below. Apparently he was the passerby, because the laughter made him flinch.

"_You know who I am, Nephamael…or have you forgotten why you came here…? Open your eyes, and know me for who I am."_

'_The Lich King!_'

"_Welcome to your…life…_" It sneered, dry, venomous humor in the word. "_As a Death Knight…_"

And thus, he awoke in Archerus' Hold, cold, haunted, and never again the same man, for some unspeakable evil had just begun its icy cold reign over his heart.

///Fin///

**[Afterword]**

**Okay, so that last chapter was just a tie in. The first two chapters were two open, and I desperately needed closure. v.v**

**Neph: Is it over yet? o.o;**

**Yeah, I'm done. You can come out now.**

**Neph: *comes out from under the table* You...are one scary woman.**

**I know, I suprise myself sometimes.**


End file.
